


breakthrough

by MusicalLuna



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Avengers Family, Blood, Caretaking, Crying Steve Rogers, Drugged Steve Rogers, Explicit Language, First Aid, Gen, Hurt Steve Rogers, Hurt/Comfort, Medical Care, Medical Inaccuracies, POV Steve Rogers, Protective Avengers, Steve Rogers Feels, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug, Steve Rogers Needs to Let Himself Have Nice Things, Steve Rogers is a Dumb Ass, Steve Rogers-centric, Swearing, Team Bonding, Team as Family, Undressing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-05
Updated: 2017-09-05
Packaged: 2018-12-24 02:49:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12003396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MusicalLuna/pseuds/MusicalLuna
Summary: Steve is the leader of the Avengers and he has to conduct himself accordingly--even when he's suffering.That's his job, isn't it?





	breakthrough

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MYSELF DAMMIT](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=MYSELF+DAMMIT).



> I started this fic in 2014 and I just banged out an ending tonight and I'm posting it because I JUST NEED TO LET IT GO, GOOD OR NOT
> 
> thank you to arukou and windscryer for their help with this one

“ _Shit!_ ” Steve breathes and his gloved fingers dig into the joint of the Iron Man's shoulder, into the flesh of Thor's deltoid.

“Take heart,” Thor tells him, “we have but a few fathoms before us and you will be at rest at last.”

“Yeah, just a few more fathoms,” Tony adds agreeably. The helmet of his suit has been pulled back into the body and his hair is a disheveled mess. “Then the real fun begins.”

He and Thor have got Steve in an awkward two-handed seat carry between them, Bruce having already darted ahead into the Tower to retrieve his medical kit, Natasha and Clint picking up the rear. Steve's doing his best to stay still, for all the good it's doing. Even the slightest jostling sends pain pinballing through him.

He bites down on a fouler word as Tony and Thor pick their way down the stairs into the penthouse, every jarring move shifting one of the dozens of long, thin spines jutting out in sweeps up both his legs, across most of his stomach and chest, and up around the left side of his neck and shoulder. Mercifully, none managed to wind up in...more delicate areas. He's pretty sure he'd be unconscious from the pain alone if they had.

Thor and Tony try to transfer him onto the couch as gently as they can, but it still manages to shift what feels like _every one_ of the spines and Steve pinches his eyes shut; he can hear the Iron Man armor creaking in his grip.

Tony makes a soft, nearly inaudible noise of surprise and vague alarm. “Hey, okay, that's it, you're down, you're down, keep it together, Cap.”  
  
Steve breathes out sharply through his nose and even that restrained movement sends a wave of fire down his body. “Easy for you to say,” he grits. It doesn't come out as light as he means it to.

Thor touches his elbow and murmurs, “Come now. Breathe, Captain.”

Steve tries, he does, short and sharp through his nose again, but it hurts just as bad and he winces, feels the spine sticking out of the angle of his jaw shift. It makes his _teeth_ hurt.

“ _Breathe_ , Captain,” Thor orders, gripping Steve's hand tight in his and this time Steve does. The pain is astounding, setting off sparks behind his eyelids. Thor's hand gives him something else to fix on as he takes a breath, in and out, and then another, until he can do it without setting off the excruciating bursts of pain that came before.

“Thanks,” he manages to pant and Thor shakes his head, intense blue eyes focused unerringly on Steve's face.

“Do not trouble yourself. Continue to take steady breaths as you are now and it will help control your pain.”

Steve gives him a jerky, aborted nod and Thor eases back onto the cushions at his left, careful not to jostle Steve as he does. Bruce is kneeling on the floor at Steve's feet, his expression twisted in concern, Natasha and Clint each hovering at his shoulders. Clint's focused on his arm guard, undoing each of the small buckles with easy, practiced movements while Natasha watches Steve, her arms crossed over her chest and a frown turning down the corners of her mouth.

Steve tries on a smile for them, wincing just a little at the way it pulls at the spine on his jaw. Natasha's frown deepens and Clint's eyes flick up to his face. “Don't do that,” he says.

Confused, Steve blinks and turns his head without thinking. “Don't do wha— _fuck,”_ he spits and Bruce lunges forward in time to catch him from folding in on himself, planting his hand on Steve's one clear shoulder and pressing back.

“Tilt your head back,” he orders, commanding, the way he only gets when he's treating them. “Drop it back, Steve, come on.”

Steve does and it sparks several electricity bright points of pain down his neck and shoulder, but as it travels further, each one weakens, the ones on his shin giving a collective throb with none of the sharpness. Steve pants, his fingers clenched into the couch cushions and wishes miserably that he'd thought his plan through better this afternoon.

“Good,” Bruce says. “That's good. Stay exactly like that until I can get some of these out of your neck, all right?”

Behind him, Steve can hear Tony bounding back from the suit removal platform, his bare feet slapping on the tile. “I _meant,”_ Clint drawls, “don't try that 'I'm hunkydory' bullshit on us, Steve. The mission's over. You don't have to hold yourself together for our sake.”

“Tower's a judgment-free zone!” Tony adds cheerfully, sitting down on the arm of the sofa at Steve's right and leaning in to stare at the spines, his brow furrowed. “What are we looking at, Bruce?”

Steve doesn't answer, doesn't tell them that it's not that easy. He has to be stronger than that.

Bruce has moved around to the back of the couch to get a look at the one spine that hadn't gone through the suit first—the one in Steve's jaw. “I'm going to move your head,” he warns and then he's very gently turning Steve's head to the side, blunt fingers warm and steady at his temples. Steve does his best not to move and Bruce gingerly presses the pads of his fingers to the skin around the spine. “Okay, now I'm just going to see if I can slip this out. The shafts are smooth so hopefully—”

Steve yells, white-hot pain blooming over his face, blotting out his vision. Distantly, he hears Bruce curse, feels someone's hands pressing down hard on his arm, on his shoulder.

When the white fades out of his eyes, they're wet, his chest a raging fire because he's breathing in rough, heavy bursts.

“Hey! Hey, you with us?” Tony says, his voice sharp.

“Yeah,” Steve croaks. He feels wrung out, weak. He thinks if he wanted to move his hands, they'd shake. “Can we...not do that again?”

“I'm sorry,” Bruce says. His face is twisted guiltily. He's standing in front of Steve now, which is a little alarming, and one of the thin black spines is in his gloved hands. “You jerked away and I wasn't expecting it.”

“Sorry,” Steve breathes and Bruce's gaze goes soft, his head tilting.

“Don't be, I should have been better prepared for a reaction like that. I was afraid of this.”

“Of what?” Steve asks, dreading the answer.

Bruce's face pinches and he holds out the spine, points to the end. “They're barbed.”

“Of course they are,” Clint mutters. Steve hears him throw his arm guard across the room, followed by the sound of Clint's booted foot thunking against the other sofa.

“It's fine,” Steve says, turning his head despite the stab of pain it elicits and giving Clint a quelling look.

“It's not fucking _fine,_ Steve!” Clint snaps and then, glaring, “Bruce told you to stay still, dipshit.” Steve sighs.

“So this process is going to be even more hellish than we thought. Fantastic,” Tony says grimly and Steve feels his fingers splay on his shoulder. It's not reassuring. “Suit?”

“This will be easier if we can get it off and see what we're doing,” Bruce admits. “I'm just not sure _how_.”

They're both quiet for a moment and then Tony says, tilting and ducking his head back and forth as he searches for the zippers on the suit, “Cut the spines down. Down to maybe an inch? Then all we have to do is get the suit loose—” He makes a sucking sound with his teeth. “—and we can slide it right off.”

Bruce nods slowly. “Yes...yes, that could work.”

“I'll get the shears,” Tony says and spins, hopping up and darting out of sight.

“I'm sorry,” Bruce says again, leaning over to dab at Steve's jaw with a wad of gauze.

“Not your fault,” Steve says wearily. He's no stranger to pain, but when it's as strong and steady as this, that doesn't much matter.

Bruce frowns at him as he holds a fresh gauze square over the wound on his jaw and puts up his other hand, pressing the back to Steve's forehead. It's cool against Steve's burning skin and his eyes slide closed. “You're warm,” Bruce says, his frown deepening. “Even for you. Steve, I know the pain's probably all you can think about, but are you experiencing other symptoms? Nausea? Stiffness?”

Steve does his best to catalog how he feels, underneath the sting of the needles. “I do feel a little sick I guess, now you mention it. Um. My joints ache,” he says and frowns himself because that doesn't make any sense. He hasn't done anything to his joints. The fight had gone well until he'd gotten too close.

Bruce nods and adds another layer to the square of gauze. He looks contemplative, but not worried so Steve closes his eyes again. He's only half-aware when Bruce makes a soft, displeased noise and adds yet another layer to the wad he's holding to Steve's jaw.

“ _Dammit,”_ Bruce says, a few moments later when he adds the fourth, and Steve pries his eyes open in time to see him swivel. “Natasha, I need you to take this down to the lab. Tell JARVIS you need to synthesize an antitoxin.”

“Got it,” Natasha gingerly picks up the spine he's indicating, left on the table, and then she's gone.

“Those things were _poisonous?”_ Clint says, incredulous. “This just gets better and better.”

“But I'm resistant to toxins,” Steve protests, even though he can already tell that's not the case this time. His head feels overheated and stuffed too full, but the rest of him is chilled and that nausea he mentioned is making itself a nuisance, now that he's aware of it.

“Tony!” Bruce calls, standing up and waving impatiently.

“What?” comes Tony's voice from behind Steve, wary. “What happened? What's wrong now?” His footsteps sound faster, louder.

“The spines are venomous. A hemotoxin I think,” Bruce explains and takes one of the pairs of shears out of Tony's hands as the other man skids to a stop next to him. “Thor—”

Thor vacates the space at Steve's left with no further prompting and Bruce kneels in his place. “You're _shitting_ me,” Tony says, taking Steve's right without needing to be asked. “No, no, of course you're not.” He glares at Steve. “Next time you're going to let the guy wearing armor handle the close-quarters fight with the spiny monster, aren't you?”

Steve nods miserably and his jaw throbs, blood tickling as it drips down his neck. “Absolutely.”

Tony barks a short, humorless laugh.

“Don't go anywhere, guys,” Bruce tells Clint and Thor as he and Tony set to work, clipping down the spines, quickly and carefully as they can. “We're going to need your help getting the suit off.”

“Not going anywhere,” Clint says. “What are we looking at? Is Cap in danger?”

“I can't be sure,” Bruce says, tense and unhappy. “We don't even know what that thing _was._ I'm only assuming JARVIS can make an antitoxin. There are dozens of variables, not factoring in Steve's healing abilities, if they even _work_ on alien biomaterials. It looks like the venom is a hemotoxin, which means his blood isn't clotting properly. Right now I think the spines are preventing the wounds from bleeding more freely, but as more venom continues to enter his bloodstream, that stopgap is going to rapidly degrade.”

“But Steve's blood replenishes more quickly than the average persons', doesn't it?” Clint's eyes scan over Steve's body, intense.

“It does,” Bruce agrees. “About four times faster, which means he can generate about a pint per hour, but that's just volume. It still takes about a week for him to replace lost red blood cells and while it's great we don't have to worry about him going into shock, the loss of cells could still be life-threatening if he continues to bleed for too long, not to mention the fact that the venom will degrade his mucous membranes. That means if the venom is potent enough he could start bleeding internally—”

“All right, enough!” Tony snaps and misjudges the space he's got between two of the quills. He knocks both of them with the cutters. Steve has to bite down on his lip to keep from crying out, Thor's hands stopping him from jerking and aggravating more.

“Shit, Steve, sorry, sorry,” Tony yelps and his eyes flick up to Steve's face before he keeps working, wound tighter than ever.

“Breathe,” Thor prompts and Steve takes in a slow, shaky breath, wincing as Bruce snips one of the spines and pain flares, licking at his clavicle.

“It's fine,” Steve tells Tony, forcing his voice steady. “Everyone just—stay calm. JARVIS will manufacture the antitoxin and you guys will get the spines out, I'll be fine.” There's no point worrying until they're sure there's something to worry about.

Clint snorts, running a hand anxiously over the lower half of his face. “Aren't we supposed to be the ones reassuring you?”

“Yes, your faith in us is touching,” Tony mutters, bending low over Steve's ribs. “Your general lack of interest in your own well-being, however, is not.”

Natasha comes back as the pair of them are working their way down to Steve's stomach. “JARVIS is working on the antitoxin now. He said he'd let us know as soon as he can determine exactly what we're dealing with and alert us when the antitoxin is ready.”

“Fantastic, get over here and help Barton get this top part of the suit off,” Tony says without looking up. “How the hell do you put this thing on by yourself anyway?” he asks, dropping a handful of snipped-off quills on the coffee table.

Steve's mouth twitches upward in a weak smile. “Practice.”

Natasha climbs gracefully over the arm of the couch at Steve's left and Clint puts a hand on Bruce's head to warn him not to lift it suddenly as he clambers onto the couch at Steve's right. Thor rumbles a reminder at Clint to, “Move with care,” as he lifts his hands from Steve's shoulders and Clint shoots him a dirty look.

“You're one to talk, Fido,” he mutters.

Thor scowls at him. “You know I do not understand that reference, but I glean its uncomplimentary nature and it is _not appreciated,_ Clever One _._ ”

“Why is Barton the clever one?” Tony complains to Bruce under his breath. “Why not one of us?”

“I think he's being facetious,” Bruce mutters in reply.

Natasha rolls her eyes and leans in to start unzipping Steve's uniform. His heart lurches, starts thumping against his ribcage. Tony seems to think the suit's going to come off easy, but he's never put it on, or taken it off after a battle, and Steve knows already that's not going to happen. He has to do a lot of shimmying and tugging to get it on and back off again and even with help it's going to _hurt_.

“Wait,” he blurts as Natasha starts peeling back the blue and the five of them freeze, eyes jumping to his face.

“What? What's wrong?” Tony demands, looking a little wild-eyed. He's holding his hands like Steve's body is a land-mine set to go off. Steve doesn't answer right away and he presses, “ _Steve._ ”

“No,” Steve says and he swallows, winces. “I just.” He hesitates, glancing at Bruce before he drops his eyes to his knees, the dull heat of shame making his already overheated face burn hotter. “I was wondering if there was maybe, um. Something you could...you could, y'know, give me? For the. For pain? If you have it.”

Bruce's eyes go wide and he says, “Oh god, _Steve_ , why didn't you say something before? I got sidetracked, of _course.”_ He drops his shears and immediately starts digging around in his kit.

“You idiot,” Tony says in a marveling tone of voice, sitting back on his heels. “I thought Bruce'd already given you the good stuff or I would have been stuffing pills down your throat myself _ages_ ago. This whole 'suffer in silence _'_ thing you've got going on has really got to stop.”

“Oh, that's rich, coming from you,” Clint says.

“It's a work in progress!” Tony snaps in return. “I self-medicate! Like you're so much better at it!”

“ _Enough,”_ Natasha says, before they can really get going. Steve's grateful for her intervention; he's starting to shiver, despite how uncomfortably hot he is from the neck up. The fever makes his skin feel too small, everyone too loud and too close.

“Here,” Bruce says quietly, shifting onto his knees as he draws fluid into a needle from a tiny bottle. “This should at least take the edge off. I want you to let me know the second it stops helping, okay? There's no need for you to endure this without it.” He taps the needle and a little of the fluid bubbles out the end. “Clint, can you get his glove?”

“Sure thing.” Clint gets the buckles that hold Steve's glove on open with ease and slides it free.

“Are you cold?” Bruce asks, brow creasing with worry as he takes Steve by the wrist, bracing the heel of his palm against Steve's to stabilize it.

“Head's hot,” Steve tells him and tries to suppress the next shiver with little success. “Rest of me's not,” he grits against the following wave of pain.

“It's the fever,” Bruce says and slides the needle into the back of Steve's hand. The medication is cold as it enters his veins. “You should start to feel it in a few minutes. We'll wait.”

“Cutting them's all right,” Steve says. “You and Tony are doing great. The suit takes some sweet-talking to get off though.”

“No,” Clint drawls, oozing feigned disbelief. “That baggy thing?”

Bruce turns his face into his shoulder to hide his smile and Tony doesn't bother, laughing right along with Thor. “I certainly don't mind,” Natasha demurs, off-handed, and Steve can't help but grin, a blush crawling up his cheeks.

“You should have seen the old suit,” he tells Clint, gesturing carefully over his thighs with his hands palms down. “ _Tights._ This? Is nothing.”

“We watched your movies, Cap, I saw them,” Clint says. He puts his face in his hands and shakes his head. “I remember. God, do I remember. _The short shorts._ ”

By now Bruce is laughing helplessly into his upper arm.

“For God and country,” Steve says gravely and the rest of them lose it, too.

Steve laughs along with them, happy just to see his _team_ happy, in tact—they're becoming a real team, he realizes—maybe something more than that, and he hurts, but not as bad as he would have a few minutes ago. The world is already going a little soft around the edges.

The small effort takes it out of him though and by the time they've all come down, he's slouched into the couch that much further. His head feels stretched too far and even though the sharpness of each individual puncture has waned, there's a deep ache spreading from his joints into his bones.

Bruce takes off his glasses and wipes his eyes with the heel of his palm. His voice is still warm with humor when he puts them back on and touches Steve's ankle. “Feeling it yet?”

Steve manages to dip his head in a nod and closes his eyes, swallowing to force down the lurch of his stomach.

“Nausea's getting worse,” Natasha surmises and Steve feels her tiny hand on his forehead, brushing back his hair. He feels too awful to stop himself from leaning into the touch. Natasha clucks her tongue softly. “The sooner we're finished, the sooner you can rest. Are you ready?”

“As'm ever gonna be,” he mutters.

“We'll be gentle as we can,” Natasha says and then Steve feels her hands on the suit again, as if from a distance. Delicate fingers pull back the flap at his throat and he winces as the medication-dulled throb from the spines sharpens. Natasha carefully eases it off around the barb pinning it to his chest and then Clint takes it so she can work the zipper underneath down a little at a time, bracing fingers on either side to prevent as much motion from transferring across the suit as she can.

Having the zipper undone loosens up the body of the uniform considerably and Steve's even breaths shorten and shallow because each one shifts the suit around the spines. Clint manages to get the cowl unfastened from inside the collar and he slides it free as Natasha gets the utility belt from around his waist.

“Do you feel the need to expel?” Thor asks when Steve swallows hard against a sudden surge of nausea and he huffs a laugh that turns into a series of curses he has to clamp his mouth down around. Every muscle tenses as Clint and Natasha pry back the suit a little at a time.

“There, done,” Tony says from near his knees with audible satisfaction. “Sure hope you're wearing underwear, Steve,” he adds, eyebrows climbing his forehead as he finally looks up to see the strip of bared skin between the zippers. Steve is thinking about pulling Tony's leg—telling him, _nah, not enough room_ —when Natasha's progress halts.

“This one is going to hurt,” she says, her mouth a thin, hard line as she meets his eyes.

Steve tries to look down and see where the trouble spot is, but he can't, not without moving his head. Her hand is gingerly resting on his left flank and there are a couple of spines stuck in the soft skin of his belly; it's probably one of those. “Do it,” Steve tells her, braver than he really feels.

She doesn't hesitate after that. Her delicate fingers press down against the bare skin of his stomach, right around one of the spines and the pain medication isn't enough to dull the flare of white-hot agony the pressure elicits. Steve chokes on a cry. The pain ripples outward, like the spines are hitting home all over again as Natasha and Clint ruthlessly take advantage of the fact that he's already hurting and start peeling back the suit quick as they can.

“Breathe!” Thor orders and Steve tries, he really does, but the muscles catch in his chest. It feels like he's lost control of his own body in the face of the pain; he can't breathe, he can't think.

Someone barks an order, Steve thinks it's Tony, but it could be Clint, maybe, and then Steve's hips are being pulled up off the couch and the suit's being worked down his thighs. He feels another prick on the inside of his elbow, a rush of cold under the skin, and even as the pain in his legs is flaring, it's easing in his chest. The muscles unwind just a little and he sucks in a shuddering breath. He realizes he can feel Thor's hand curled around the right side of his throat, his voice encouraging.

“Goddammit,” Tony is saying, “either we're getting fucked over in the field because the suits can be cut or we're getting fucked over in the aftermath because they can't.” He starts cussing up a storm and Steve's eyelashes are clumping together because they're wet with tears, but he laughs anyway. Tony curses so colorfully even the Commandos would be impressed and they knew how to make a sailor blush.

Tony pauses mid-rant to tilt his head at Steve, then glances at Bruce. “Is he giggling? How much of that stuff did you give him?”

Bruce's mouth turns up slightly. “That won't kick in for another few minutes. What's funny, Steve?” he asks, sounding gently amused himself.

“My friends,” Steve says and his voice comes out rougher than he expects. He sounds like he's been crying and it makes Tony's eyes tighten around the edges. “During the war. They cussed like that. I learned a lot from those fellas.”

Tony snorts. “I bet. What's the worst you said before then? Gee whiz? _Golly?”_

Steve doesn't rise to the bait, just smiles back at Tony—at least until Clint and Natasha coordinate pulling the suit free of his legs and one of them bumps a spine in the crease where his left leg meets his body.

Then he gasps and one of Dum Dum's favorites—already at the front of his mind—slips out of his mouth.

Tony, Clint, and Natasha all let out startled bursts of laughter and Bruce raises his eyebrows, pushes up his glasses. “Wow, Steve, that's—that was pretty vulgar.”

Steve would blush if he weren't already flushed and too worn out to be more than mildly chagrined. “Didn't mean to say it out loud,” he pants and clenches his eyes shut, grits his teeth, as he breathes through the jagged bolts of pain branching out into his groin. Son of a bitch, that smarts.

“Why the hell _not,”_ Clint demands. “Whoever came up with that is my new _idol._ ”

“What is a—” Thor begins and Steve points a finger at Tony.

“Don't.”

Tony shoots back a look that says _please,_ with attitude, and says to Thor: “I'll tell you later, buddy.”

Steve huffs in annoyance, but that's really the best he can hope for. Tony never passes up an opportunity to educate them in obscenities. The annoyance is quickly swept from his mind as his now bare skin registers that it's exposed and Steve starts to shiver. It's agony. He tries to force himself to stop, but tensing up every muscle is impossible, not to mention nearly as painful as the shivering.

“JARVIS, kick the heat up a couple notches, would you?” Tony calls.

“Certainly, sir,” JARVIS replies and Steve immediately feels a gush of warm air from a vent over head. Sweat breaks out on his forehead, but the shivering begins to ease. He'd forgotten how miserable a fever was.

Tony strips off the shirt he's wearing, leaving him in just an undershirt and Bruce begins methodically rolling up the sleeves of his own shirt, saying as he goes, “Okay, so we're going to have to extract each spine individually using the needle cover technique, which involves—”

“Sticking a needle in through the wound and covering the barb so the spine can be removed?” Tony guesses, dripping sarcasm.

Bruce adjusts his glasses and gives Tony a look. “Yes, but it's not as easy as that, particularly since we can't be sure which side the barb is on—”

Tony flaps his hand dismissively. “I think I can handle it. My fine motor control is spectacular. JARVIS can help us out with the location of the barbs, can't you, buddy?”

There's a brief pause and then tiny green specks of light start to appear near the spines on Steve's legs, working up over his stomach and across his chest. “I have indicated the location of the barbs in Captain Rogers' body as accurately as I am capable,” JARVIS says and Tony grins smugly at Bruce.

“There you go,” he says.

The second dose of painkillers is really starting to kick in and Steve is enraptured by the delicate pinpricks of light spotting his body. “They look like stars,” he murmurs and reaches to touch one in the middle of his abdomen.

Thor catches his wrist and says, “That is unwise, Captain.”

Steve's gaze is drawn to the cuffs encasing Thor's wrist and his fingers flex, trying to trace the contours of the gold. “Your armor's so detailed. Makes me wanna draw.”

Thor looks at him in surprise. “You would do that?” He allows Steve to run his hand over the pattern engraved in the metal and Steve is fascinated by the feel of the design under his palm. It's smooth and cool, rising and falling in soft ridges under his fingers.

“Sure, I would,” Steve murmurs.

Thor lays his hand over Steve's fingers, which are still exploring the curves of his armor. “That would be a great honor.”

Steve smiles, the back of his neck burning hot with a blush.

Then there's a sudden, hot flare of pain on his thigh. “ _Fuck!_ ” he yells and he almost knees Bruce in the nose. Thor's hand intercepts it just in time and he pushes it back down.

“Sorry,” Bruce says, grimacing.

With a clumsy hand, Steve reaches out and pats his shoulder. Or tries anyway. “S'okay. You're doing your best, 's not your fault it hurts like a fuckin' sonvabitch.”

Tony and Bruce exchange a look and Tony stifles a giggle behind one wrist.

“Oh, wow,” Clint says. “This is gonna be hilarious.”

“Not as hilarious as you,” Steve says.

“Oh, _man._ ”

Tony giggles louder.

“Natasha,” Bruce says from where he's bent over Steve's shoulder.

Steve blinks and next thing he knows, Natasha's right there.

“What can I do?” she asks.

“These wounds will need bandaging—”

Natasha nods crisply. “I'm on it.”

“Try to put pressure on them for thirty seconds or so. There are too many to apply pressure individually until the bleeding stops and it's not practical to try and pressure bandage all of them.”

“Got it.” Natasha folds herself onto the couch next to Steve, her knee putting pressure on the outside of his thigh. She leans in toward his shoulder where Bruce has already removed a handful of the quills and Steve can't help but stare.

“You're beautiful,” Steve tells her, because she is. “Almost as much of a knockout as Peg was,” he sighs.

That makes Clint laugh.

“'s true,” Steve insists and closes his eyes, breathing in the smell of Natasha's sweet shampoo. “Pegs was scarier, too.”

Clint laughs even harder at that and Natasha shoots him a glare, but smiles at Steve. “I think I would have liked Peggy.”

“Yeah,” he murmurs, “I bet Peggy woulda liked you, too.”

Peggy's gone now though, just like everyone else Steve knew. He'd stopped going to see her near the end because every time seeing him upset and confused her and she'd get angry, sobbing and throwing things. They told him she'd be that way for hours after his visits, so he stopped going, stopped hurting her.

“Steve, what's wrong?” Natasha asks softly, her small fingers gently brushing the wetness from his cheeks.

“Peggy's dead. An—an' I never got a chance to step on her toes.” He sniffles, screwing his eyes shut against the big globby tears leaking from his eyes. “They're all dead.”

She pulls him in, murmuring softly in Russian and he buries his face in her neck.

“I— I always dreamed about falling in love,” Steve tells her, miserable. “Had it 'n let it slip through my fingers.”

“Love has many forms,” Nat murmurs, “you haven't seen the last of it, Steve.”

“You're a good friend.” Steve's mouth feels like it isn't quite working correctly. He licks at his swollen lip. “'m not.”

Thor frowns. “What makes you say this?”

“Never know what to say or do.”

Natasha snorts. “And you think I do?”

“Do what?” Steve asks with a frown. He's not sure what they're talking about.

“You are a fine friend, Steve,” Thor says and Steve flushes, pleased and embarrassed all at once.

“Nah, I—”

Tony's head pops up above Steve's knee, which is a surprise. “Look, Steve, speaking from a long and storied experience with being poor at friendship, and as someone who has been making overtures at you for _months_ , all you've gotta do is let us.”

Steve swallows thickly. “Feels like I'm—like you've got me at a disadvantage here,” he mumbles.

Bruce sighs. “With someone as stubborn as you, we need every advantage we can get.” He pauses and then adds, “That's the last spine.”

Steve lifts his head, peering down his body in surprise. “I have spines?”

“Not anymore,” Tony says cheerfully.

“Izzat why I feel so strange?”

“Part of it.” Bruce's face wavers a little and Steve grabs onto something. He really doesn't feel well. His head's very hot and every move he makes aches like his bones are made of hot coal.

“Shit,” Tony says, and then there are hands cupping his jaw, tilting his face up into the too-bright lights. “JARVIS, where are we on that antivenin?”

The hands around his jaw hurt like sandpaper on his skin.

“I believe I will have something ready in three minutes, Sir.”

“Is that blood?” Clint demands.

Someone dabs at Steve's nose with shards of glass.

Steve wants to sleep.

“Steve, stay with us!”

“'m with you,” he mumbles.

Tries to anyway.

–-

Someone is talking, but Steve can't quite make out the words. Their voices are pitched low and soft and the _kktsh kttsh_ of a machine keeps distracting him.

He feels strange, aching all over, and weak as a kitten.

What happened?

There was something wrong, but he can't remember what. Is the team okay?

A steady beeping noise starts to pick up speed, coming faster and faster and the voices stop abruptly.

Steve hears footsteps and for some reason that's when it clicks: he's in medical, or a hospital maybe. Maybe they'll know about the team.

How long has he been out?

Ignoring the slick terror curling in thick tendrils in his gut, he forces his eyes open and—

Standing over him are Thor and Tony. Steve reaches out and Thor takes his hand, squeezing it.

“You are awake.”

“Yeah,” Steve breathes, dizzy with relief. “'m I—you're— Is everyone—”

“Everyone except you is fine,” Tony says, putting his hand on Steve's arm. “And you scared the daylights out of us, but you're doing fine, too. You were only out three hours.”

Steve closes his eyes and lets out a long, shaky breath. “Still Tuesday.”

“Yeah,” Tony murmurs, hand tightening a little on his arm. “Still Tuesday.”

“What happened?”

Things are starting to come back, but they don't make sense yet.

“You began bleeding internally,” Thor answers. “As well as the external bleeding. You went into shock from the sheer stress of the ordeal. We gave you the antivenin as well as a clotting agent, which helped stop the hemorrhaging. You have been slowly stabilizing since.”

“Sorry,” Steve mutters and Tony's hand tightens painfully around his wrist.

Tony snatches his hand away, reaching up to press it down over his mouth. “Don't— Don't fucking _apologize,_ Steve. Just—we're your _team,_ dammit. And maybe I only speak for myself, but we want to be your family, too, if you'll just _let_ us.”

Steve stares at him, at a loss for words.

“Never thought I'd say this, but yeah, what Stark said,” a voice calls from the doorway. Clint raises an eyebrow at Steve and takes a large bite out of an apple. Natasha is poking her head in through the door beside him.

“Seconded,” she says.

“Aye,” Thor adds.

“I also agree,” Bruce calls faintly from the hallway.

Steve's eyes prick, his vision blurring. Maybe it's not his strength they need. “Okay.”

“Okay?” Tony echoes incredulously.

“Okay,” Steve repeats. “I feel like hell and I miss Peggy all the _time_ and I want you to get me out of this room, now.” It feels monumental when he meets Tony's eyes and says, “Take me home.”

Tony stares back at him for a beat, then he raises his voice and says, “You heard the man! Captain's orders. We're going home.”

The others pour into the room and Bruce heads straight for Steve's side, deftly removing the IV in his arm and slipping a bandage around the mark left behind. Clint and Natasha start arguing about the best way to get back to the penthouse as Tony and Thor help him out of the bed and Steve can't believe he's resisted this so long.

Family.

He likes the sound of that.


End file.
